Stints and Stunts and Chicken Bones, but Cigarettes Will Kill You

It happened just after midnite. First Friday had been a huge success from my point of view. At least a dozen readers that I’d never met before came out to the meet and greet at Viva Hollywood. About 50 regulars and friends and the usual gang that I hang with were there as well. Lots of fun, and fantastic furniture. I saw a few new exhibits, artists, and venues. I visited one in particular that’s been there for a few years that I had never visited before. I took a lot of pictures. I had a 1/2 dozen new post ideas in my mind. I went to Fremont Street Experience to look at the Bikes, and watched the Viva Vision show. I was home by midnite.  

I was standing in front of the open fridge, munching on a left over piece of fried chicken.  I’m not really sure why the fridge picked me as a dance partner, but we were certainly waltzing together. I couldn’t tell if I was spinning, or if the room was. I’ve never had a Dorothy moment before, but when I landed i wasn’t in Kansas or in Oz. I was in Valley Hospital.

My new motto is “There’s no such thing as a convenient time for a Heart Attack”. As Mild as it was in reality, and as quickly as I was feeling better, I don’t ever want to have to go thru it again.  

Most of Saturday was spent getting prodded, and poked and tested in every which way they could get my insurance to pay for. My brain kept busy fretting over the “to-do” list that wasn’t getting done. Who was going to cover for me at the Tour? Who’s going to answer the never ending barrage of email? Who was going to blah blah blah, blah blah, blah blah.That was while I was waiting around for test results, and for a cardiologist to actually see me. I was just sure they were just going to tell me “false alarm — go home and stop smoking”. That’s not quite what they would tell me, after all.

I spent Sunday at sea. I pretended I was on a cruise. I read a book. I watched a movie. My friends smuggled me a laptop.  Monday’s Port of Call adventure was on the high tech island of Angioplasty. Been there, done that, don’t care to go again.

They say I can go home today. They won’t say what time. I’ll be making some calls, while I’m waiting. I’ll be sorting the 735 emails in the inbox. A few of them are important. Finding them in the barrage is routinely challenging. I’ll touch base with the most priority of things I’m working on. But I know I can’t burn the candle at both ends anymore and continue at the pace that put me in the hospital in the first place. I’ll keep blogging and will be back on schedule in another day or two. I’ll be allowed to drive again on Friday. But I can think of a dozen clubs, organizations projects and charities that might not get much help from me for a while.

I will be blogging, and I will be selling homes. And most importantly, I’ll be practicing that “no” word which I’ve avoided using my whole life. I’ll do what I say yes to, but I won’t be saying yes to everything anymore.

That means I’m going to have to stop smoking for one thing. I think I just heard a collective VVV Cheer. The Colonel and the King  are going to miss my business. Phillip and Morris aren’t going to be happy. Your Starbucks Stock is safe, however.  Getting in and out of the car at house after house won’t be considered exercise anymore.

It’s kind of funny, in a way. I had “just enough” of a heart attack to do me some real good.